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For why should I the path go o’er,
Has thrice perform'd her stated round,
And chac'd away the gloom profound, I trust, that we, my gentle friend, Shall see her rolling orbit wend, Above the dear lov’d peaceful seat, Which once contain’d our youths' retreat ; · And, then, with those our childhood knew, We'll mingle with the festive crew; : , While many a tale of former day Shall wing the laughing hours away; And all the flow of soul shall pour The sacred intellectual shower, Nor cease, till Luna's waning horn Scarce glimmers through the mist of Morn.
OH! had my fate been join'd with thine,
As once this pledge appear'd a token;
For then my peace had not been broken.
To thee, these early faults I owe,'
To thee, the wise and old reproving;
'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving. For once my soul, like thine, was pure,
And all its rising fires could smother ; But, now, thy vows no more endure,
Bestow'd by thee upon another.
Perhaps, his peace I could destroy,
And spoil the blisses that await him ; Yet, let my rival smile in joy,
For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him.
Ah! since thy angel form is gone,
My heart no more can rest with any; But what it sought in thee alone,
Attempts, alas! to find in many.
Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid,
'Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee; Nor Hope nor Memory yield their aid,
But Pride may teach me to forget thee.
Yet all this giddy waste of years,
This tiresome round of palling pleasures ; These varied loves, these matron's fears,
These thoughtless strains to passions measures,
If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd;
This cheek now pale from early riot, With passion's hectic ne'er had flash'd,
But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet.
Yes, once the rural scene was sweet,
For Nature seem'd to smile before thee; And once my breast abhorr'd deceit,
For then it beat but to adore thee.
But, now, I seek for other joys,"
To think, would drive my soul to madness; In thoughtless throngs, and empty noise,
I conquer half my bosom's sadness.
Yet, even in these, a thought will steal,
In spite of every vain endeavour; And fiends inight pity what I feel,
To know, that thou art lost for ever..
I WOULD I were a careless child,
Still dwelling in my Highland cave, Or roaming through the dusky wild,
Or bounding o’er the dark blue wave; The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride,
Accords not with the frecborn soul, Which loves the mountain's craggy side,
And seeks the rocks where billows roll.
Fortune ! take back these cultur'd lands,
Take back this name of splendid sound ! I hate the touch of servile hands,
I hate the slaves that cringe around : Place me alongs the rocks I love, :
Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar, I ask but this-again to rove
Through scenes my youth hath known before.
Few are my years, and, yet, I feel
The world was ne'er design’d for me ; Ah! why do dark’ning shades conceal
The hour when man must cease to be?
A visionary scene of bliss ;
Awake me to a world like this?
I lov'd—but those I lov'd, are gone,
Had friends-my early friends are fled,
Dispel awhile the sense of ill,
The heart--the heart is lonely still.
How dull! to hear the voice of those
Whom rank, or chance, whom wealth, or power, Have made; though neither friends or foes,
Associates of the festive hour; Give me again a faithful few,
In years and feelings still the same, And I will fly the midnight crew,
Where boist'rous Joy is but a name.
And Woman! lovely Woman, thou !
My hope, my comforter, my all ! How cold must be my bosom now,
When e'en thy smiles begin to pall. Without a sigh would I resign
This busy scene of splendid woe; To make that calm contentment mine,
Which Virtue knows, or seems to know.